


Sleeping Habits

by dedicatedfollower467



Series: Time has Brought Your Heart to Me [3]
Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Classic Doctor Who References, F/M, Gen, Literal Sleeping Together, The Vault (Doctor Who), Touch Aversion, Twelve doesn't like to be touched, but you don't have to know Classic Who to get it, can be read as gen or shippy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-10-09 12:32:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17406965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dedicatedfollower467/pseuds/dedicatedfollower467
Summary: Missy asks the Doctor to sleep with her in the Vault one night.





	Sleeping Habits

**Author's Note:**

> I don't care what canon says or doesn't say about Time Lords and sleep. I just don't give a damn.
> 
> This fic was inspired by something I noticed when I was watching "The Two Doctors" - specifically, that Two and Six are both very casual about platonic touch with their companions. But Twelve vocally asserts that he doesn't like to be touched...
> 
> This fic is part of a series, but you don't need to have read the rest to understand this one. Enjoy!

He was about to leave the Vault, feeling frustrated and wrung-out, when Missy called out to him. 

When he turned, she was lying in her bed on her side, one hand propping up her head and the other curled jauntily over her hip. She wore a cream silk nightgown he couldn’t remember bringing her, which draped over her body elegantly, creating small mountains and valleys of material. With her eyelashes half-closed, she smiled darkly - though without the mascara and lipstick her face looked strangely naked and vulnerable.

“Sleep with me tonight, Doctor?” she said, voice coy, subtly rolling her hips forward. 

The Doctor’s first instinct was to turn away, angered by her teasing and her refusal to treat anything seriously. But then he remembered what they’d been talking about today, the trauma and the horror she’d described plainly and matter-of-factly, but which clearly haunted her. And he saw in her eyes a hint of fear.

“Let me change,” he said, wearily, and went to find pyjamas. There was a second where he almost didn’t register the look of genuine shock on her face before leaving.

As he put on his sleep clothes - a pair of the most comfortable sweats he owned, a soft and ratty t-shirt, and an old zippered hoodie - he felt keenly his inadequacy in the situation. Missy would want to cuddle. And he - well, he didn’t like to be touched.

Odd, that he was so touch-averse, considering every previous regeneration had been so tactile. He could still remember his instinct to loop an arm around a companion’s shoulders when standing together, the way he would hurry someone off by hovering both hands over their upper arms and framing their body with his own.

And now he could barely stand to be patted on the arm. Sometimes he wondered if his latest regeneration hadn’t broken something fundamental inside of him. So many aspects of his personality seemed to be either totally missing or profoundly new. How had the tactile young man who’d fallen asleep in bed with his roommate turned into someone like him?

When he returned to the Vault, now pyjama-clad, his feet in an old pair of slippers, Missy was on her back, staring up at the ceiling. She jumped slightly when he shut the door, though she didn’t look at him.

“I didn’t think you would,” was all she said. The Doctor didn’t bother to answer, but pulled back the covers and crawled in next to her.

They both stared in silence at the ceiling for a few moments, awkward and unsure of each other. How long had it been since they’d last shared a bed? He couldn’t remember how to arrange his limbs, where she liked to be touched. Plus, these were new regenerations. He’d changed so much - what if she had, too?

Missy rolled over so that her back was to him and scooted slightly, close enough that the curve of her spine just brushed against his arm. The Doctor flinched at first at the contact, but over time he relaxed, breathing deep and letting the weight of his body on the bed ground him.

Falling asleep was much harder than he’d expected. He sat awake for hours, staring at the ceiling of the Vault, feeling Missy’s body move with her breath in a slow rise and fall against his arm. 

The Doctor thought back to the two young boys who slept in each others’ arms, to protect themselves against the dark and the nightmares. Sometimes he wished they had never changed, that they had both stayed innocent and loving, that they’d never separated and never become the monsters they had.

Missy’s breath half-stuttered, and one leg kicked back suddenly. Almost without thought the Doctor lifted his hand and smoothed it down her side, soothing.

“You’re safe,” he whispered, and felt her legs still. “I won’t let anything happen to you. I swear it.” The lie felt just as wrong as it had the first time he’d said it.

When he woke the next morning, he was curled on his side, his arms stretched out towards the cold, empty spot beside him. He blinked and sat up, and saw Missy coming out of the bathroom, hair perfect, lipstick crimson, with her pitch-black mascara matching the buttons of her crisp Victorian dress. She smiled at him, dark and cruel.

The Doctor swallowed around the lump in his throat, rose silently, and left without saying a word.


End file.
